


First Encounter of the Intimate Kind

by alltoseek



Series: Jack's Firsts [2]
Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Community: spook_me, F/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8390563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltoseek/pseuds/alltoseek
Summary: His friends had pooled their coins and thrust them in his hand and him to her door, giggling drunkenly the whole time, and assuring him, as straight-faced and soberly as they could manage, that it was time for his first visit. Past time for his first visit. His first visit to the Countess! they roared in laughter. All sailors must pay their dues to the Countess!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyRowyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRowyn/gifts).



> Many thanks to my faithful betas, feroxargentea and alcyone301 :-)

Jack knocked at the door on the landing, remembering just in time to whip the hat off his head. He stood there nervously twisting it out of shape, until he remembered it was his best one, and he needed to keep it neat. He was looking down, straightening it out, when the door opened.

Jack snapped his head up, a blush overtaking his already sunburnt-red face. The woman in the doorway was smiling gently at him. Her hair was wound up in a large turban, and her plump curves were arrayed in clothes that were, or at least had been at one time, fashionable, although somewhat worn and shabby now.

Jack realised that he was staring, rudely, and tried to form words, but he hadn't thought in advance what to say, and it was impossible to tell her the truth: that his friends had pooled their coins and thrust them in his hand and him to her door, giggling drunkenly the whole time, and assuring him, as straight-faced and soberly as they could manage, that it was time for his first visit. Past time for his first visit. His first visit to the Countess! they roared in laughter. All sailors must pay their dues to the Countess! The vulgarity of their suggestiveness now seemed even ruder than this blank gaping.

“I – I... uh,” stammered Jack. “My name is Jack – John Aubrey, ma'am; I'm, uh... I'm a midshipman of the _Resolution_ and my friends thought – they said... mutual acquaintances thought that we, uh... it would be suitable...” he trailed off. With each word Jack's face grew redder and his throat tightened, until his speech more nearly resembled the squeaking of a mouse than anything recognisably human.

The woman's gentle smile never faltered; her gaze softened and grew indulgent. “Please to come in,” she said kindly, opening the door to usher him in.

“Thank you, ma'am,” said Jack.

Once inside his hands began twisting the unfortunate hat once again, until his hostess gently removed it from his grasp. “May I take your coat?” she asked.

Jack shrugged out of it and watched wordlessly as she hung up both items on the rack by the door. He stood there, large red work-roughened hands hanging splayed by his sides, feeling tall, gangly, and awkward. He was not so very tall, compared to his hostess; her face was about level with his. Yet her movements were graceful, and she had a composed compactness about her that Jack never felt, his own limbs seeming to scatter themselves about without thought.

“Please, have a seat,” said the lady, gesturing to the cosy grouping of armchairs and sofas by the fireplace. Jack sat carefully on the edge of a sofa. “Would you like some tea?” she asked, already heading to the sideboard.

“Yes, if you please, ma'am,” said Jack. “I'd be much obliged.”

She brought over the tray with teapot, cups and saucers, and a plate of muffins and crumpets with butter and jam. Jack watched as she poured the tea, adding a bit of milk and sugar to each. He drank the tea she gave him – rather good tea, surprisingly, though Jack usually preferred coffee. He helped himself to a scone generously slathered with butter and jam. “Shall I –” started Jack thickly, then swallowed his muffin and tried again, “Shall I toast a crumpet for you, ma'am?”

“Oh, yes, please do,” said the lady, smiling fondly.

With careful deliberation Jack pierced a crumpet and held it over the homey fire. His hostess looked into the small flames alongside him, nibbling on a muffin and sipping her tea. Jack presented her the crumpet, neatly buttered and evenly golden-warm, with a slight flourish. “Your crumpet, madam,” he said, as if presenting a crown.

The lady laughed, delighted, and accepted it. Jack felt toasty warm himself, inside and out. He felt his earlier blushes of awkward embarrassment fade, leaving him warmed only by the fire and the lady's welcoming presence. They sipped their tea, ate muffins and toasted crumpets, not saying much to any purpose, but Jack had rarely enjoyed a tea more, he felt so comfortable.

Only crumbs and melting pats of butter remained when the lady asked Jack to close his eyes. He did so easily, with a small smile. The request did not strike him as odd; he thought he might rest, though in truth he was not very sleepy. He felt the slight warmth of her hand near his mouth, and smelled the butter on her fingertip. “Open your lips, dear Jack,” said the Countess. He did, and her finger slipped inside, laving butter on the inside of his lower lip, on the tip of his tongue. He pursed his lips around her finger, and felt it withdraw. He heard her fingers swipe the plate again, felt the draught of heated air as her hand neared his mouth, and opened again, this time to two delicious, exploring fingertips. He smiled as he licked and sucked them, maybe even loosed a giggle, but kept his eyes closed. He felt her lips touch the corner of his mouth, the tip of her tongue darting out to capture a stray crumb. More buttery fingers came to lie on his lips, and he heard the rustle of cloth. The fingers withdrew, and her own lips met his, warm and plush and comfortable. “Are you ready for more, dear Jack?” breathed the Countess. He felt the words more than he heard them. He nodded slightly, unwilling to move his lips away from hers, and whispered back, “Yes, if you please.” He felt her lips smile against his, and she kissed him again, her tongue moving softly against the inside of his lip, as if to retrieve the butter placed there by her fingers.

Her lips moved away again, and the fingers were back. “You are so good for me, Jack, my dear,” said the lady. Jack had his eyes closed still. He kissed each finger that lay on his lips. She laughed softly. “Will you try something new for me now?” Again Jack agreed without reservation. The fingers returned, with something else. Not her tongue, not another fingertip, and not tasting of butter or muffins, but of something else entirely. It lay on the corner of his mouth, and he moved his tongue to it to capture more of the flavour and feel. The Countess gasped slightly, a sigh of surprise and pleasure, and it slipped further into his mouth. It tasted musky, yet sweet, like smoked honey. The feel was harder to define: firmer than a tongue, but not so stiff as a finger, though it was about the size of one. The surface was not smooth like her fingers, either; it had a denser texture that caught at his tongue and lips; caught gently, then released, a playful touch and slide.

Jack wanted more.

The Countess obliged, and soon there were two of the odd members in his mouth, each with their sweet viscous musk. The fingers withdrew, and the Countess kissed him: her lips, her tongue on his, and those members slinking, stroking their way over his lips, in his mouth.

Jack was overwhelmed. He could never have imagined this, and still he wanted more. He kept his eyes closed - all his other senses so heavily engaged, he hardly needed another - and raised his hands to her face, to touch her soft cheeks, stroke back to her hairline. His exploring fingers encountered no hair, but something like those same members, writ larger. Their texture was more deeply inscribed, as well; as he discovered stroking along their lengths: one hand to one member, his fingertips glancing along others, his calluses catching on the slight bumps and ridges, as gently as he tried to caress. 

The Countess was thoroughly pleased with his liberties, judging by her gasps and moans of pleasure. Her kisses became loose, her lips moving breaths along his mouth. Her head tilted backwards, and Jack moved one hand to the back of her head, to support her, and gently massaged her scalp, in between those members that took the place of hair on any other woman’s head.

She pressed her head back into his hand. “Mmm, yes, Jack, please, more…” she breathed, incoherently. 

Jack gave her more, as much as he could, stroking, caressing, tasting, kissing, touching, licking and sucking. At last Jack opened his eyes, seeing what he had been exploring with his hands and mouth. He was at once astonished and awed by the sight. 

“Oh! Oh! You are so beautiful!” he said. “Ma’am,” he added, feeling the blush rising again. He continued to stroke the limbs that waved from her head, as they wound themselves around his hands and arms and caressed his own face. In wonder he feasted his eyes on the glory of her.

“You are very kind,” demurred the lady.

“Oh, no, not at all - you are beautiful,” Jack insisted. “You are a true lady of the sea… marvellous... your colours, so vibrant, so lively.”

The colour on her cheeks heightened, and her smile became both shyer and more honest. “Thank you, dear Jack.”

The Countess rose, taking Jack’s hands, and led him into her bedroom, where they spent the rest of the afternoon, Jack exploring and learning the many other ways to bring pleasure to a lady, and find pleasure in her himself.

~o~

Afterwards, they lay together, warm and sticky, breathing in the musky air, enjoying each other’s affectionate touch.

After some time of quiet, Jack couldn’t help himself but ask, “Do you ever go to sea, ma’am?”

“No,” said the lady, her small gentle smile returning. “My home is here. I am a creature of the land.”

For a moment Jack caught a glimpse of a sea of sadness in her eyes, but only that glimpse, for that brief moment. It was soon replaced with the vibrant glow in her face that told of the joy they’d had in each other, in this space; that pleasure for now erasing any underlying melancholy. Jack kissed her again and again, wanting to erase any notion of sadness he inadvertently aroused.

Neither of them much wanted to leave the space they’d made for themselves, but Jack, still-growing youth that he was, could not go without food for long, as his stomach soon made abundantly known. They rose and helped each other clean up a little, using cloths and the basin of water in her room. 

After they’d dressed, Jack was about to take his leave, when he suddenly remembered. He drew from his pocket his handkerchief stuffed with coins, and thrust it into the lady’s hand. “For you, to… thank you, ma’am, this… for you…” he trailed off shamefaced, once again the awkward uncouth boy.

The lady’s smile, her hand gently stroking his cheek, removed any embarrassment between them. “Thank you, dear Jack. You are so very generous, so kind.”

“Not at all, ma’am,” said Jack, bravely meeting her grey-green sea of her eyes. “You are the kindest, most generous lady I have ever known.”

Her smile grew, and Jack again caught a glimpse of the spark of true happiness in her expression as she bid him adieu.

~o~o~o~

It was over a year later before Jack was again at the harbour-town where the Countess lived. He made his way to her apartment, only to find another lady entirely in residence. She disclaimed all knowledge of the Countess - she herself was known as “the Knight’s Lady”, she informed him with a sly giggle - and Jack was certainly welcome to take tea with her, if he would consider making a small contribution towards her fund for the indigent women of the town. Jack gave her what coins he could offer, but left without partaking of any tea.

As Jack trudged despondently down the stairs, he caught sight of the landlady, a mousy middle-aged woman who mostly kept out of the way, leaving her boarders’ business to themselves. She sought Jack’s eye, as she stood there half in and half out of her doorway. “Can I help you, ma’am?” asked Jack, coming to a stop at the base of the stairs.

“Do you be John Aubrey, esquire?” she asked. She didn’t have to ask if he was a sailor, or a midshipman, as both were writ all over his form.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s me,” answered Jack, curious.

“The lady what was here before, she as called herself the Countess, she left something for you,” said the woman, and held out a small package.

Jack took it, and thanked her. He turned away to leave, then stopped abruptly, digging into his pocket. He placed a coin in the woman’s hand, thanking her again.

“‘Twas my pleasure,” called the woman after him. “She was a good ‘un, and you’re a good ‘un, too, boy.”

Jack nodded, and took his leave. He headed directly back to his ship, keeping the package close and safe, not opening it until he had the privacy of the midshipman’s berth to himself (his mates being either ashore or on watch).

Opening the package carefully, he found in it a beautifully painted [miniature](http://imgur.com/ekDMtmk.png) of the Countess, capturing all of her vibrant colour, and the sea of sadness in her grey-green eyes. Also portrayed in delightful detail was what could only be her offspring, cradled in her arms. 

Jack loved the little one on sight, just as its mother must: its young body sturdy and healthy, its arms waving playfully, grasping a little fish of its own.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2016 [spook-me](http://spook-me.dreamwidth.org) challenge, though it didn't turn out very spooky, sorry :-)


End file.
